When
our God meets His God
I would
like be there.
To
see Him get His
strikes
me as fair.
(Mein GOTT! what he's got to answer for.
What
ARE stubbed toes and cancer for?)
Imagine Him called
on the carpet,
trying to justify creating this tar pit,
When He (vainly) tries to explain things away.
SHE, I trust, will, in disgust, say,
“I beg you begone, sir! Leave me. GOOD DAY!”